


Aphelion

by NightmareMode



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, At least he gets to use his grandfather's cheesy "Are you an angel?" pickup line, Diathim, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Kylo Ren - Freeform, Kylo Ren thinking long and hard about his life choices, Kylo Ren/OC - Freeform, Plus Angels making his life extremely hard, Star Wars - Freeform, Temper tantrums ahead as well, The Force Awakens, This wasn't in his job description, Work In Progress, getting super bitter about certain things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:19:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6130425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightmareMode/pseuds/NightmareMode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo Ren, scourge of the galaxy and self-proclaimed embodiment of the Dark Side, thinks himself immune to the Light Side. But when a creature comprised entirely of just that enters his life, he realizes that things might not be as easy as he had anticipated. But in his defense, who could have ever accounted for a Diathim? (Kylo Ren/OC).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Diathim

 

_“The capacity for good or evil, like the Force itself, is in all living creatures. And belonging to the Jedi Order, or the Sith, or any group won't change what you are at your core.”_

* * *

 

The village was completely outmanned. The battle prowess of its inhabitants paled in comparison to the strength and training of the Stormtroopers, the common folk’s weapons serving little purpose when they were so easily outmaneuvered. When the first of them were rounded up, the barrels of blaster guns jabbed insistently against their backs, the others were quick to follow suit in surrendering.

 

They forfeited in droves, but their cooperation would make little difference in the end. They would be killed all the same, they knew.

 

Some resisted still, but it was futile. Chaos unfurled and smoke plumed towards the night sky, the smell of fire and ashes hanging heavy in the air as the flametroopers laid waste to the market place and the primitive tents used for housing. The turmoil was only hushed by the loud hiss of a shuttle approaching, heralding the arrival of an even more sinister figure than the squadrons of Stormtroopers that currently assailed the village.

 

Amid a rush of smoke and floodlights, Kylo Ren emerged. Tall, dark, and imposing of stature, the man advanced towards Lor San Tekka without a beat of hesitation, footfall heavy and poised against the sand. He stopped just short of the elderly figure, the latter beholding him and resigning himself to his doom.

 

He knew just as well as the others— perhaps even more so— that retreat would serve no purpose here. He knew who this figure was, had come to know the face that lay beneath the metal apparatus of that mask, and knew that death awaited him at the hands of this Dark Lord.

 

“You’ve grown old,” Kylo intoned casually. Tekka did not waver.

 

“Something far worse has happened to you, I’m afraid.” The counter could have very well warranted some sort of reaction from Kylo, but no one could see it beneath that mask. Even the helmet’s vocoder, a device designed to emanate something akin to the fearsome timbre Darth Vader’s voice had once possessed, sounded utterly indifferent. It rumbled deeply, and his next words came out as a hiss by default.

 

“You know what I’ve come for,” the taller figure stressed, already showing signs of losing patience. He paced a few steps away from the restrained elder, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked nothing short of a prowling beast, ready to strike at a moment’s notice, and yet the way he was so poised about it was unnerving.

 

This was a predator. A killer.

 

Tekka would have done well to keep his eyes on the man, but something else appeared to snag his attention. Movement stirred within the shuttle, and then a bright light so vibrant it was nearly blinding washed over the sands, tinging them silver.

 

Something akin to a humanoid figure emerged from the confines of the ship, slowly and gracefully, gliding on the wind. She was weightless, an ethereal being with no solid form— she was comprised entirely of energy, and her approach was the silent kind. She swept to the former Jedi’s side, her radiance flooding the entire village and striking all those who beheld her with a sense of childlike awe.

 

An angel. There was certainly no room left for questioning what she was, but what was an _angel_ doing in such dark company?

 

Most everyone knew the rumors; the legends. The Diathim were a race of alien species that few encountered in their lifetime. And, if they were so lucky as to catch sight of these elusive creatures, then it wasn’t for long. They were infinitely curious things, and often tended to swarm ships passing through their system. It wasn’t their intention to overwhelm the pilots and crew members, but it was often a consequence of having natural hypnotic abilities.

 

They were said to be so beautiful they could make even the most hardened deep space pirates cry like babies (quite the humorous notion if you stopped to think about it), and indeed, Lor San Tekka could feel his lips part as moisture collected in his eyes when the winged figure drew her keen irises towards him.

 

Amidst a sea of silver light, he could distinguish two doe-like eyes blink back at him, so _blue_ in color that the sky seemed suddenly grayer in comparison.

 

To think that he could witness such a sight before his demise…

 

Then the creature’s light dimmed, whether it be a natural process or simply at her behest, and suddenly, human like features presented themselves. To a certain extent, that is.

 

Her flesh still thrived with a soft light, but she wasn’t garish to look upon now. She was small; petite and slight of frame with long and slender limbs— yet for all the graceful length of her legs and arms, she was but half the size of the Sith Lord she now stood idle by, barely reaching above the halfway point of his chest.

 

Two wings spread from the alabaster flesh of her back, and a face peeked out from behind pristine white feathers then, tresses of dark auburn tumbled down in pools to the creature’s thighs. Kylo Ren turned to face her, and whilst the cold visage of his mask gave away nothing, the way in which he stood straighter spoke volumes of his regard for her.

 

They tucked their heads together, speaking quietly for the briefest of moments. He seemed to be scolding her over something, for she offered him a mildly apologetic look, batting her lashes sympathetically. He gestured vaguely towards the shuttle, but she would not return to it. Seemingly deciding that the debate was of no further importance (or that he would get nowhere with it), Ren pivoted on his heel and redirected his attention back to his captive.

 

Tekka took this as his chance to voice his curiosity.

 

“And what are you doing with a creature like that in your possession?” The old man had half the mind to plead the angel’s assistance, ask that she beseech this man for mercy, for she seemed to be in his good graces if the way he interacted with her was of any indication.

 

“I hardly believe that is any of your concern. Now then, the map to Skywalker. Where is it?” He seemed almost _irritated_ to be asked such a question, but acknowledged the inquiry all the same, if only to gloss over it. He did not owe anyone an explanation; especially not one pertaining to the presence of the Diathim— the likes of which had been instructed to _stay on the ship._

 

Anthea Faelar always had been a handful.

 

San Tekka was back to beholding the softly glowing presence. She offered him a small, ginger smile that rang of a benevolent nature disproportionate to the callousness of her company, and he addressed her openly now.

 

“You do not belong with them.” It was both an observation and an obvious statement, the remark made in a matter-of-fact tone and more to himself than any other. The angel regarded him with a curious tilt of her head, while Kylo stirred. His body snapped attention and his hand gravitated towards his lightsaber, a nerve clearly having been struck. He growled, the sound feral and barely human as he stalked towards his prey.

 

“ _Careful,_ ” he cautioned darkly, inches from the man’s face now, “The map to Skywalker. **Where is it?** ”    

 

“You must already know that I will not to tell you.”

 

“Then you have sealed the fate of these people. Would you have them all killed over such a simple exchange?” He swept his arm out slowly towards the herded villagers, all of which clung to one another or cowered in fear. Again, Tekka remained unwavering. Truly, his determination was something to behold.

 

“You may try and strike fear into them, to show them the darkness that has consumed you, but even _you_ cannot deny the truth that is your heritage,” he spoke with unyielding defiance, his tone level. The casual air in which he addressed Kylo finally provoked him, his patience having reached its end.

 

“You’re so right.”

 

He loomed before the man now like a storm cloud, a sound akin to a beast’s furious hiss reverberating beneath the metal mask. His fingers clutched at his lightsaber, the weapon igniting and blazing a vibrant red beneath the night. In one sweeping motion, he brought his wrath down upon Lor San Tekka, ripping him open from shoulder to knee.

 

The villagers gaped in horror as his figure collapsed, a fresh corpse amongst the sand. His open wound stained the ground carmine, and the Diathim, having made a move to intercept the Knight of Ren’s wrath but falling just short of success, paused. She regarded the fallen figure with an air of remorse, one Kylo must have sensed, for he spoke clearly to her in her mind with the use of the Force:

 

“ _He brought it upon himself.”_

 

The angel’s cerulean irises ticked to him, and she allowed herself a thought that she knew he would hear.

 

 _“He had nothing to give you in the first place.”_ She was displeased by the slaughter, he knew this, and yet he would not apologize. It was the way of war, and he could not afford to appear merciful in the eyes of Resistance sympathizers. Kindness, compassion, _clemency_ — these were traits of the Light Side, not the Dark.

 

He was about to express such a thing to the vibrant creature when he suddenly sensed an abrupt disturbance in the Force. Swinging his palm out towards the unseen threat, a blaster’s plasma projectile halted in midair, vibrating violently in place. His mask swiveled towards the source of the assault, locating the Resistance pilot and promptly restraining him in place long enough for a pair of Stormtroopers to disarm and capture him.

 

When the man was drug before him and knocked to his feet, Kylo regarded him impassively. His clothes screamed _Resistance pilot,_ and the Dark Lord nearly sneered behind his mask.

 

“Search him.”

 

The pair of troopers gave the pilot a none too gentle pat down and used some small device to scan him from head to toe before confirming that he was carrying nothing of interest. Masking his disappointment, Ren merely gestured towards his shuttle and gave the order to have him detained. He would keep the rebellious man as a prisoner for now; store him away for later questioning. Depending on his rank and importance, he could knew a great deal on the Resistance, and quite possibly the map, as well.

 

He doubted it was a coincidence someone from the Resistance was here in this inconsequential village at the same time the First Order was. Why else would someone of his allegiance travel here, if not to search for the very same thing Kylo himself sought?

 

When the prisoner was shuffled onto the ship, a soldier in polished chromium armor approached the knight.

 

“Sir, the villagers. What are your orders?” She inquired, her voice slightly distorted from her heavy helmet.

 

Kylo Ren turned to regard the small settlement and its frightened inhabitants, his lips twisting slightly beneath his mask. This had proved to be a fairly fruitless venture, and he detested having his time wasted.

 

“Kill them all. Leave no area of the village unsearched when you are through. I want troopers sifting through the ashes if that’s what it takes. You know what to look for.” He turned his back to them then, only to be met with a quiet light. She stood much closer than before, intent on dissuading him from his callous methods. Her persistent efforts might have previously warranted a tinge of admiration from him to some degree, but now that his time had been thoroughly wasted here, he had little patience to debate morality with her.

 

And yet, for some reason, he humored her all the same.

 

“Kylo,” her voice was soft when she spoke; smooth like silk. She wasn’t keen on seeing the civilians befall the same fate as Lor San Tekka had, and she was much swifter in her interception this time around. “Surely such a display is not needed? They fear the First Order well enough now.”

 

Kylo shook his head as Captain Phasma readied her squadrons. The villagers recoiled in fear, a cry of alarm raising from a handful of them as they stared down the weapons’ barrels.

 

“It matters little who or what they fear now. The Order does not release prisoners once it has taken them. Return to the shuttle now, Lady Anthea.” It was less of a request and more of a demand, but she didn’t budge.

 

“The women and children, then?” She pressed, testing the lines of his withered patience.

 

 _“No.”_ He drew closer to her, his voice lower, “They will all perish. This is the way of war.”

 

“By whose definition?” She challenged gingerly, utterly unafraid of the potential backlash of her opposition, “Is it standard procedure to drag innocents into these matters? These people pose no threat to you.”  

 

“They stood in direct opposition to the First Order and harbored a Resistance sympathizer. They will face the consequences,” he argued as he stared into the Diathim’s imploring eyes. She blinked at him, her roseate lips pulling into the slightest frown.

 

“These people are harmless. You know this to be true.” Ever the persistent one, Anthea was not one to back down so easily.

 

He loathed when she did this— asked such impossible things of him. She knew full and well that he could not spare these people without appearing lenient. There was no middle ground to be had here. He knew what he must do, had resolved to give the order to fire, and yet this little light that stood before him gave him pause.

 

_Why?_

 

Was it for fear of warranting her disappointment? He shouldn’t have cared either way, but he was a man of his emotions. He was ruled by them, as his master had encouraged him to be. He was susceptible to them, and thus to _her._ She stirred things in him he thought long forgotten and suppressed, but so too did he awaken things in her that she never knew she possessed.  

 

He closed in on her, crowding all too close to her. His neck craned downwards, and he spoke to her in a tone to be likened to gravel:

 

“Need I remind you of the damage a seemingly harmless individual can inflict?”

 

She flinched at that, and fell silent. He took no pleasure in reminding her of _that_ incident _,_ but he was not above doing so if she left him devoid of other options as she had done now.

 

When her silence endured and she steeled herself for what was to come, Kylo Ren turned to face Captain Phasma, pausing only for the briefest of moments before he gave a nod of consent. She turned forward then and lifted her own blaster rifle.

 

**_“Fire.”_ **

 

The screams of the innocents filled the night air, discordant and chilling. The Stormtroopers fired without a sliver of remorse, for that was what they had been trained to do. And yet, and _yet_ —

 

One resisted. One refused to open fire on those who did not deserve this death sentence, and both Kylo and Anthea regarded this individual, albeit in varying manners.

 

The First Order figurehead dwelled on him for only a second before moving on, sweeping onwards towards his shuttle. The Diathim lingered, her blue eyes seeming to burn past the visor of the trooper’s helmet. He stiffened beneath her stare, however gentle it may or may not have been. His weapon lowered when the howls of the dying seized, and for a long moment, the two regarded one another in differing levels of curiosity.

 

But then a voice came to her in her mind, and the angel pivoted her head in the direction the knight had retreated. Turning on her bare feet, her gossamer white gown fluttering and swaying with her movements and the frigid desert winds, she fled to the confines of the ship, leaving the trooper to his own devices.

 

But she remembered his given designation so that she might speak with this man, FN-2187, at a later date.

 

For now, she was certain that Kylo would wish to speak with her about her defiance. It was a conversation she could not put off, so she didn’t bother to. She met his awaiting figure, and together the two strode down the halls of the shuttle as it lifted from Jakku’s surface. They were dark and light in this moment; good and evil.

 

And yet somehow, they coexisted on the same side.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Thanks for stopping by to read my story! Let me know what you think of it, and if you enjoyed it! I'm a bit nervous about posting this since I'm a little shy about my Star Wars writing, so depending on the kind of response I get, I'll plan out future chapters. I would also like to note that I was extremely hesitant to use a Diathim character, but honestly, it's going to take nothing short of an actual angel to drag this boy back to the Light Side.
> 
> Also, I should probably note that since the Diathim aren't expanded on too terribly much in the Star Wars universe, I'm going to be filling in the blanks myself.
> 
> At any rate, thanks again for reading, and I hope you enjoy this work! Feel free to join me on my Star Wars tumblr blog if that's something you'd like to do: my URL is skywalkalonelyroad, so hit me up there if you'd like to discuss Kylo Ren and his trash self. <3


	2. Fallen from Grace

 

Kylo could remember the exact moment that Anthea Faelar had swept into his life. She came like a hurricane, tilting everything he knew and valued on its axis. She had fallen from the clouds above Starkiller Base, that endless stretch of wintry firmament above, and she was resplendent. A drop of silver light hurtling towards the ground, coiling in mid-air as she scrambled to right herself.

 

A single pair of battered wings had flapped in vain, working to slow her descent but never succeeding in halting it. He had sensed her the moment she entered the massive weapon’s atmosphere; had watched her through the observation portal on base. She had collided with barren branches, slender arms bracing in front of her pale countenance in hopes of shielding her from the scrape of wood. Down, down, and down she had fallen, until eventually she collided with the ground.

 

**Hard.**

 

She had rolled and skidded, a cloud of white dust having sprung up where she lay. Her wings flopped uselessly onto the ground, limp with exhaustion and abuse. Kylo could have just as easily deployed a trooper to investigate, but he had been so intrigued by the descending light that he had opted to go himself.

 

What he happened upon on that day was not at all what he had expected to find lying amidst the snow banks.

 

A fallen Diathim sprawled in a bloody heap.

 

She had heard him before she saw him. Heavy, firm footsteps pressing into several inches of thick snow gave him away, crunching loudly beneath his feet as he had advanced towards her. She almost hadn’t opened her eyes; almost hadn’t cared to see what fresh hell fate had decided to throw at her.

 

But she had always been a curious one.

 

With what little strength she could muster, she had cracked open her eyelids, lashes fluttering as she honed her blurry gaze in on her observer.

 

He would have thought she would be afraid of him, thus he approached at a painstakingly slow rate. She never took her azure eyes off of him. She watched his every step, gaze never wavering. He was surprised that she wasn't frightened of him, for people oft quaked in the face of Kylo Ren.

 

But not this woman. Not this angel. She maintained eye contact without displaying an ounce of fear, even in the wake of his expressionless mask. And Kylo had never been more grateful for the cold, metal barrier than he had been in that moment, for it was the only thing shielding his almost childlike look of wonder as he stared upon the beauty of this creature. She remained unmoving, though. Perhaps she was simply too exhausted to stir. Perhaps she had accepted whatever fate happened to befall her at his hands.

  
And yet that didn’t seem to be the case, for suddenly she attempted to stand despite her wounded state. Her legs quaked beneath her, knees buckling and sending her collapsing back into the snow. Her fingers curled into fists and she clenched her jaw, attempting once more to rise. She could not.

 

He watched her as if she were some delicate and beautiful bird with broken wings, the likes of which he could either save or put out of misery. One swing of his lightsaber, and this creature’s suffering would cease. That’s all it would take, and yet—

 

Her eyes had opened fully, such a vibrant hue of blue, and had knocked the breath out of him when she stared at him in full.

 

“What is it that you wished to speak with me about?” Anthea’s tender voice shattered the knight’s recollection of their meeting, and he turned to face the angel, dispelling the image of that encounter. She stood before him now healed and unbroken, completely unlike how she had appeared in his memory. The only trace of the incident that was left were the four missing wings and the scars that marred the alabaster flesh of her back.

 

Scars that sang of sorrow and the slightest desire of reprisal.

 

 _“I can convert her, Supreme Leader,”_ his own voice echoed in his mind, and he saw Snoke’s pallid features, his eyes staring down disapprovingly at his apprentice.

 

 _“A Diathim, you say?”_ he had boomed _, “Never. They are creatures of the Light. Even you, master of the Knights of Ren, are not yet ready for such a task.”_

 

 _“Not this one,”_ he had protested passionately, opting to ignore Snoke’s lack of faith in him (although it stung and agitated him),  " _This one is different. She’s fallen. She’s been wronged. She_ **_hates,_ ** _I can feel it. I can teach her to use that hate, and then she can become an asset to the First Order. To you, Master.”_

 

Kylo remembered the way his mentor had considered this deeply for a long moment, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands on his lap. He had regarded his apprentice carefully, assessing every inch of his mask as if he could see straight through it, and Kylo had no doubt he could.

 

 _“As you will. If what you say is true, then a Diathim who succumbs to the Dark Side could very well prove to be of use to me,”_ the looming figure had at last acquiesced after much consideration, “ _Bring her to me.”_

 

A chill had swept down the Dark Lord’s spine, and something had overcome him in that moment; something that bid him to defy this order.

 

 _“Supreme Leader, with your approval, I would like to train the girl myself. Convert her myself.”_ After all, what a feat it would be to taint this creature’s light! Something of such degree had never been achieved before, not in any history that he was privy to, and if something born directly of the Light Side could be corrupted, then surely he himself, already immersed in such blackness, could reach total darkness. No more lying awake at night utterly conflicted, utterly _torn._

 

Snoke hadn’t displayed any particular emotion at this opposition, but he had scrutinized the young man all the more thoroughly. An even _longer_ bout of silence had passed before he at last consented, “ _So be it. But you will find her corruption to be no easy task. Take care that you are not seduced by such a creature in the process, Kylo Ren.”_

 

He wouldn’t, he had told himself as he bowed his head and was dismissed. _He wouldn’t._

 

And yet the angel’s disappointment was hard to face. He could see it in her eyes as she regarded him now, breathtaking as usual as she stood patiently awaiting his word.

 

“You know what it is we must discuss,” he attempted to keep his voice level, and succeeded to some extent. Anthea tilted her head slightly to the side, her expression serene and collected.

 

“My defiance, you mean?” Not one to beat around the bush, she jumped straight to the point. That much he _did_ like about her.

 

“Yes, your _defiance.”_ It wasn’t as if this was their first time having this conversation; Kylo regretted to admit that. Thus far, he had failed in his vow to convert her to the Dark Side. She was still as pure and kind as the day she had fallen onto Starkiller Base those select few years ago. Nothing had changed since then, and Snoke grew ever more impatient. Kylo Ren barely staved off his desire to see her by assuring her that her training was progressing.

 

Time. He just needed more _time._ Sooner or later, he would not be able to keep her from his master. And when Snoke found out that she was as still as untainted as ever, he would crush her beneath his foot like some pest, and Kylo would lose his only grounding presence in entire damn Order.

 

No matter how it might sound, Anthea Faelar was not an attachment of his. Not an attachment, no, but a _passion._ Attachments were weak and useless to him; a trivial thing not worth his time. Passion, however, was an attribute of the Dark Side, one that was encouraged to be capitalized upon in order to fuel determination and power.

 

She was, as it turned out, invaluable to him. He would never put it to words, but from the second she had leveled him with that striking gaze of hers back when he had first discovered her years ago, she had him wrapped around her finger. It was _infuriating,_ and often times he questioned how she had achieved that.

 

And yet, for a being of Light, she did not force her viewpoint onto him. She protested for the lives of innocents, certainly, but she never tried to sway him from his current path. She was simply a consoling presence, someone he had grown to trust, to _value,_ and that was a rare occurrence for him. He would be most displeased if he lost her for her incessant benevolence towards lowly creatures of little consequence.

 

But she could never know this.

 

“Questioning me in front of my men is also something it would seem we need to discuss.” His tone wasn’t agitated, but it wasn’t pleased. She didn’t appear to be apologetic for opposing him, because in her eyes, he _needed_ to be opposed at times. In truth, sometimes she was the only thing that stood between him and poor decisions. It had been that way ever since she had settled here.

 

“Is it? Hux does it all the time,” she countered, batting her long lashes passively at him. Kylo’s lips twisted behind his metal guise.

 

“Hux is an Imperial Academy bred lapdog whom I have little patience for. It would be wise not to follow his example.” The knight’s tone left little room for doubt on just how he felt about Hux. Anthea smiled, eyes glinting knowingly. She had paid witness to the two butting heads on more than one occasion, and more than once she had been forced to slip between the two of them to discourage any potential lashing out that wasn’t of the verbal kind.

 

Her, a petite thing half their size.

 

“Of course. My apologies.” She was being genuine; Kylo could sense that much.

 

“There’s still the matter of your defiance. Understand that I won’t have you questioning my methods. We must do whatever it takes to get the map to Skywalker before the Resistance does, and if that means reducing every village in the galaxy to ash to achieve such, then it will be done.” He couldn’t fathom her pity for the villagers— again, they were nothing to him.

 

But to her, they were everything. Innocent people. Living, breathing creatures that did not deserve the fate that had befallen them.

 

“Well then, let us hope that you needn’t burn down any more villages before you find the map.” The Diathim mustered a small smile, but it was rather hollow. Kylo barely suppressed the urge to sigh. He didn’t _like_ dampening her mood like this, but often times she left him no choice. It was frustrating, to say the least. If she would only succumb to his teachings, to the Dark Side, and embrace it all in full, this wouldn’t even be an issue. She wouldn’t have even batted a single lash at the destruction of Tuanul or the slaughter of its natives.

 

A small period of silence passed between the two of them before Kylo pivoted on the heel of his boots, his black cloak swishing with the motion. There was no point in lingering on this further; what was done was done, and loath as he was to admit it, he did not like seeing her dejected.

 

“I intend on meditating. Will you accompany me?” She often did just that when he settled down to do as such, honing in on the Dark Side and banishing all thoughts of the Light from his mind. It had become a routine of sorts; something familiar to take her mind off of things, and to help him do the same as well. During meditation he sharpened his hatred to a fine point to utilize and make him stronger; to cleanse any doubts and temptations. She was a peaceful presence in those times, and he found it easier to achieve absolute concentration when she was nearby. She simply had that effect on him.

 

Wordlessly nodding, her wings shifted upon her back as she followed him down the linear corridors until they arrived at his chambers. He entered the code and the blast doors slid open, granting them access.

 

As he settled into his usual meditative position, she settled a little ways away from him, content to merely relax. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes behind his mask, and focused in on the Diathim’s presence in the Force.

 

It was silver like the moon, _she_ herself was as well— glowing brightly in his mind’s eye. He tried to focus on just that, but his brain seemed uncooperative with him today of all days. It kept slipping back to Anthea’s expression when he had given the command to have the villager’s killed; that imploring look in her eyes and the inevitable disappoint when her request was not heeded.

 

_Focus._

 

He envisioned her wings instead. They were a filmy gray, neither black nor white. The Diathim appeared to other races however the beholder perceived them to be. It was an odd concept, but it was true nonetheless. While one might see Anthea as a tanned maiden with golden hair and a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, others might see her with dusky or ebony skin and dark tresses, bright eyed and slight of frame. She could very well be red haired to others, black haired, silver, Force— any color, you name it. Any preconceived concept someone had of the Diathim, whatever they assumed an angel would look like, that was what leaked through to her appearance. That was what they saw.

 

Her wings, however, were somewhat more consistent. They reflected the beholder’s nature and morality; their alignment, even. Those of the Dark Side saw the feathered appendages as solid black in hue, while those pure of heart or with good intentions perceived her wings to be snowy white.

 

Kylo Ren saw gray, and it more than infuriated him at times. Why? Why weren’t they _black_ for him? He let this thought fuel his anger, his hatred towards the Light, as he continued to meditate.

 

_Breathe in, breathe out._

 

Sometimes he thought he saw the plumage darken, but he could never be certain. They were at least darker than when he had first met her, and that was _something._ But not enough. It would never be enough for him until they were darker than the deepest reaches of space.

 

_Soon. They will be soon enough. You must go deeper; submerge yourself entirely in the Dark Side._

 

He thought he had, but it seemed that was not the case, even after all these years.

 

Then he saw her face again in his mind, radiant and smiling, and he tried to imagine what she might look like at his side, fully converted and a creature of darkness instead of light. A figure that struck fear into the hearts of all who beheld her, demanded reverence with every step, rather than exuding benevolence and compassion.

 

He envisioned her garbed in an extraordinary black gown, the likes of which trailed behind her for several feet. Lace climbed up her sides and gold adornments of the most ornate fashioning decorated her auburn tresses, and he hummed idly at the thought. He had often imagined her like this over the course of years spent in her company, and yet he was just as far from seeing this vision realized as he had been in the beginning.

 

She could be a queen. A dark queen. **His** queen.

 

_Focus. You must not allow yourself such thoughts._

 

He wasn’t sure how long he had been meditating before a gentle tap upon his fingers stirred him from his thoughts, and he snapped his umber eyes open to peer at the angel from behind his mask. She appeared concerned, her wings spreading on her back as a few feathers ruffled before settling again.

 

“You were clenching your fists so hard I feared your nails might pierce through your gloves,” she explained, the timbre of her voice velvety. Instinctively, the knight’s hands loosened under her tender palms. Seemingly satisfied with this, she opted to settle directly in front of him this time, splaying her legs out to one side as she situated herself.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked incredulously, but she hushed him and readjusted his hands in her grasp. He barely resisted the urge to pull away, stung by the tenderness in which she handled him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone was _gentle_ with him. It certainly hadn’t been in this life. This kind of interaction came from a time when a young boy by the name of Ben Solo had still drawn breath in his lungs, but that boy was dead, and now there was only Kylo Ren.

 

 _Or so you say,_ a small voice in the back of his head mocked.

 

**No.**

 

“Helping you meditate.” Her answer was short, sweet and simple, and yet he still couldn’t wrap his head around it entirely. Of all the times she had sat in with him during these instances, never once had she done something like this.

 

Today was to be a day of firsts, apparently.

 

She held his palms facing downwards atop her own, her own hands almost comically small in comparison to his own, her eyes slipping closed as she relaxed her lithe frame. Her wings sunk low on her back, slumping against the ground as the flight feathers curled upwards against the hard flooring.

 

Allowing himself a bit of curiosity, Kylo waited to see what the angel had in store for him. He was pleasantly surprised and— although he would never admit it— genuinely caught off guard when he sensed her lowering her mental walls.

 

She was letting him into her mind. Again, something she had never done before.

 

He waited a few agonizing seconds to see if this was a mistake; if she had only done it on accident. But her defenses remained lowered. Almost tentatively _,_ the Dark Lord finally reached out through the Force, prodding carefully at her mind. A small twitch of her lips told him she felt him enter her head, but she made no move to repeal his access. What he felt upon sinking into her thoughts was nothing but sheer tranquility and quietude; the likes of which he could never hope achieve in his own mediation. His mind was far too restless and conflicted for that.

  
It washed over him like an ocean’s cool wave, flooding his senses and leaving him feeling weightless. Everything crumbled and faded to dust around him, and he was alone with this foreign sensation of utter calmness. It felt just like her presence, only amplified tenfold. Everything about it echoed her, and it was intoxicating.

 

Pushing a little deeper, he sifted through the images that rose to the forefront of her mind. Flashes of his mask and figure flickered here and there, the occasional glimpse of Phasma or Hux tossed into the mix every once in awhile. He saw the Stormtroopers she actively interacted and conversed with, the lower ranking officers and lieutenants and even those further down the hierarchy of the First Order that he had never had the mind to even spare a glance at.

 

But she had, and he wasn’t surprised. He could feel her compassion for them, her attachments to them, and it all oozed _warmth._ Something entirely foreign to him.

 

He didn’t get it, so he pressed onwards, digging deeper, hoping for some sliver of clarity.

 

What he ended up stumbling upon was the complete opposite of that.

 

There were corpses instead of smiling faces. Blood was everywhere. He could hear muffled screams of agony reverberate in her memory as wings were torn from her back, and she was crying out names he had never heard her even utter before. There was a man standing in front of her, _laughing,_ cruel and—

 

“No.” So engrossed was he in the task at hand that Kylo nearly jolted at her voice, immediately pulling out of her head. He knew he had delved beyond the borders she had intended, but she didn’t seem angered. She eyed him with those wide blue eyes, eternally patient, and shook her head slowly.

 

“Sorry. I— I just...” She lowered her gaze, and he could sense remorse and _anger_ at her assailant radiating off of her for the briefest of moments before she tucked it all away, replacing it with the calmness he had felt earlier.

 

Kylo knew little of how Anthea had come to fall onto Starkiller Base that day. It hadn’t been a mere coincidence, that much he was certain of; she had been running from something, _someone,_ but she had never given him the full details. She had woken in the medical bay after a day spent in a bacta tank, but even with the regenerative properties of the medicinal substance, there were still scars that ran down her back. They had simply been too gruesome to mend entirely. She would carry them with her for the rest of her life.

  
And, astonishingly enough, he _loathed_ whatever or whomever had brought such harm and suffering upon her.

 

But even after prompting her for her story once she had regained consciousness, all she had told him was: _“I trusted someone who seemed harmless, and that was my first mistake.”_

 

Despite this, she seemed willing enough to trust _him_. Ironic given her statement, but he saw little reason to question it.

 

“Your thoughts betray you, Lady Anthea,” Kylo remarked. Her eyes ticked back up to him, albeit slowly, and her shoulders rose slowly as she inhaled deeply.

 

“Did you know that today marks the third year that I’ve been in your service?” the question was casual enough, but the subject jump threw him temporarily for a loop. Quick to save face, he countered:

 

“And yet I still know practically nothing of the reason behind your coming here.”

 

She managed a small smile, chewing on the inside of her cheek in contemplation. Her wings shifted, the filmy gray plumage sliding across the floor as the appendages readjusted themselves, stirring up a slight gust of wind with their movement.

 

“How about an exchange, then?”

  
This piqued his interest well enough, and he regarded her with restrained curiosity. His silence bid her to continue, and so she did.

 

“Take off your mask, and I’ll tell you how I came to be here.” she bargained.

 

Were it anyone else making such bold faced demands of him, Kylo might have Force choked them on the spot and tossed them out the nearest port to decay in the darkest reaches of space. But this was Anthea, and after three years, she had _somehow_ managed to dig so thoroughly under the knight’s skin that he was helpless to refuse her such a simple request.

 

Perhaps the Diathim’s own endless curiosity was rubbing off on him, damn her.

 

“Very well,” he rumbled, reaching both hands up and pressing a button on his helmet. It emitted a hiss as the locking mechanisms disengaged themselves, allowing him to lift the heavy apparatus above his head. He set it off to the side, canting his head back in the direction of the angel, his now visible umber eyes regarding her levely.

 

She was much less reserved in her reaction than he might have thought. This was not the first time she had seen his face. She had seen it two other times, the first time having been an accident— a case of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time— and the second time had been of his own allowance. It hadn’t lasted long, however, and she hadn’t been nearly this close.

 

As it were, she looked nothing short of fascinated by his countenance. Her hands twitched and jumped a bit at her sides as if she intended to touch, to explore this new territory, but she thought better of it at the last second. It was for the best, Kylo told himself, and yet he still found himself a bit disappointed at her restraint.

 

Still, she marveled at him; at the face beneath the mask which had been only a blur to her until now. She took in the many flat moles that swept across his flesh like constellations; lost herself in those piercing brown eyes, framed by thick and furrowed brows. His face sharply defined, with a chiseled jaw and strong chin, high cheekbones and an aquiline nose. Charcoal hair framed his face, swept back in a flowing motion and coming to rest in loose waves at his shoulders.  His lips were parted as he stared at her, and she mirrored the expression.

 

One way or another, he managed to sit entirely still as she analyzed every inch of him, picking apart his features bit by bit. He felt absurdly bare without his mask, but she seemed delighted to see him devoid of it. _Food for thought,_ he mused to himself. It was something he could perhaps put to use later.

 

“Now then, are you going to honor your half of the bargain?” His voice, no longer distorted by the vocoder of his mask, was smooth and deep and effectively snapped her out of her trance. She drew her eyes to meet his own, leveling him with a smile that was so radiant and warm it nearly knocked the breath out of him.

 

It slackened in the slightest, however, once she collected herself and realized that she would indeed have to tell him what he wanted to hear. He sensed her hesitation, and upon arching a brow at her, she plucked at the edges of her white, flowing gown and shrugged a little.

 

“I didn’t think you’d do it,” she admitted after a moment, tone almost sheepish. His expression remained unchanging, but she wasn’t looking at him anyways. She had closed her eyes, opting to suck in a deep breath as she mentally steeled herself to endure those memories again. A deal was a deal.

 

Her roseate lip parted and the beginnings of a word formed on the tip of her tongue before meeting any early grave on her lips. Her brows knitted tightly on her forehead, but then she returned her gaze to him.

 

“Here— allow me to show you instead.” she murmured, reaching forward to press her fingers against his forehead. The Diathim, as he knew well by now after hours spent sifting through what little information he could find on her race after her initial arrival, were born with natural hypnotic abilities. Anthea had never used said abilities in his presence, but it suddenly struck him that she was about to hyno-imprint the memories into his mind.

 

He expected the intrusion to be unpleasant, but instead she was gentle with him, just as he had been with his mild mind probing earlier.

 

The walls and floor fell away; his room in its entirety and even the _Finalizer_ itself fell away. He was left floating in his own mind, cast into a foreign place that he did not recognize. A barrage of images accosted him, fleeting and fast, _too_ fast to keep pace with, before they gradually began to slow.

 

And when they settled in his head, it was just him and the tragedy that Anthea was allowing him to pay witness to.

  
Just he and the nightmare that was that fateful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kylo literally has no idea what to do with Anthea's kindness and compassion. Backstory coming up in the next chapter, and then after that, I'm going to be diving back into the movie's plot! As always, feedback is appreciated. Thanks!
> 
> (Come talk to me about the trash bag that is Kylo Ren on my Tumblr page, skywalkalonelyroad!)


	3. Reminisce

 

His new surroundings were foreign to him. Something told him that this was Millius Prime, but it wasn’t his own knowledge that informed him of such, rather, it was Anthea’s. This was her homeworld, these were her memories, and he was simply an onlooker in this flashback.

 

Kylo knew little of Iego’s one thousand moons, and Millius Prime was no exception. The landscaping and architecture was at least worthy of the dwelling of the ethereal creatures which resided here, he noted. Towering, pristine white and gold structures loomed on the horizon, situated well above the clouds— a civilization of radiance and beauty.

 

He might have taken a moment to appreciate it further if the world hadn’t of tilted around him. It took him a moment to realize that he was flying— or rather, _Anthea_ was, and he was seeing the memory of it through her eyes. The sensation of his body standing stationary yet having his mind tricked into thinking that everything was whirling around him at such an accelerated rate left him a little weak in the stomach.

 

She landed behind a figure that glowed similarly to her own, pressing her hand over quivering lips. The figure jolted and inhaled sharply as she thrashed in her captor’s grasp. Anthea’s features emerged from the shadows, cerulean eyes brimming with tears but burning with a sense of urgency. The other Diathim, shorter and younger in face, turned to look at her.

 

Relief washed over her features, and she embraced the older woman.

 

“He’s dead, Anthea. They killed him,” she trembled violently now, her eyes wide and filled with tears, “Why did they kill him?” The young angel crumbled then, pressing her radiant countenance into her hands and heaving a distraught sob. It struck Kylo then that this was someone that Anthea was close to, but what was their relation?

 

“Why did they kill our brother?” Ah, so it was her sister.

 

The girl whimpered, incapable of fathoming what could warrant such a vile act. The poor, sweet thing— so young and pure; she had no idea her parents had been slain as well. In the memory, Anthea decided not to divulge that information for the time being.

 

“Shh, hush now. Breathe. Rhia, look at me, _breathe,”_ Anthea encouraged her sister tenderly, drawing her traumatized form into her arms. She held her younger sibling as she wept, curling her six wings around her as if to hide her from the world. But who would hide _her_ away from all of this?

  
No one. No one would hide her, _could_ hide her, anymore. Her parents and her elder brother were dead, cold and lifeless, their lights having flickered out. All that remained was her and her little sister now.

 

“Listen to me very carefully. Do you recall those humans that crashed their ship onto our moon nearly a month ago? The ones we rescued and nursed back to health?” Rhia nodded slowly, and her sibling pressed onwards, “I’m afraid there’s no easy way of saying this, but they aren’t nice men. Not as they led us to believe. It was all a lie; they took advantage of our hospitality, and now they mean us harm.” That much was obvious, but Anthea pressed on regardless, “We must keep our wits about us, or we won’t make it out of this alive. Do you understand me? We have to be strong. _Rhia.”_

 

“But _why? Why_ do this?” the younger pressed, clinging onto the question. The auburn haired angel pursed her lips in response, her throat tightening as she clenched her jaw. What could she say?

 

_Because they’re vile slavers and black marketeers. Because not every race is kind, it would seem. Because there is evil in this galaxy._

 

**_Because we were fool enough to trust them unconditionally._ **

 

Anthea said none of these things. Instead, she merely shook her sister gingerly by her shoulders, asking her again if she could collect herself. Rhia choked out a quiet sound of consent, nodding weakly and wiping at her eyes. The image of her brother’s corpse was still fresh in her mind, and her shoulders hung heavy with bereavement. Anthea would have been in a similar state had she allowed it of herself, but she didn’t. She could not. She had to protect what little she had left; what she held precious and dear to her.

 

In the end, it was a futile attempt. The memory abruptly jumped forward some short time, and screams filled Kylo’s head now as he watched the slavers and black marketeers drag Rhia away. She kicked and howled, but with her wings bound in chains and her ankles shackled, it was of little use. Anthea was crying, but through the tears she shouted promises to her sister.

 

 _I’ll find you. I swear it._ Rhia didn’t seem to hear her. She was drug into the confines of a ship, and the main slaver, quite clearly the head of the gang, turned back to face Anthea. He was no one of importance; not a face Kylo recognized, but one he made a point to memorize. 

 

“I will burn you for this.” Never before had Kylo heard her speak in such a _hateful_ tone. It stood in stark contrast to the tender tone she so often employed; the sweet timbre he was used to. This was darker, laced with utter detestation.

 

“A day will come when you think you are safe, and I will turn all you hold dear to ash. Then you will know the debt has been paid.” She stared the man down, her expression utterly devoid of any emotion except burning acrimony. Her blue eyes **burned** with it, and her full lips were pulled back in a sneer to bare her teeth. She looked more beast than angel in that moment.

 

The man only laughed at her, shaking his head. When he grinned, it revealed a single chipped tooth.  

 

“This one’s got a mouth on her. It’ll drive her future master out of their wits. Teach her that it’s better to hold her tongue. She’ll be better off for it,” he gestured towards her wings then, and the brutes in his following that weren’t already restraining her stalked towards her. Kylo made note of every one of their faces, engraining them in his own memory to pull at a later date. He would have each and every one of these individuals hunted down and slaughtered like animals, if they weren’t already dead.

 

“Leave her with one pair, though. A Diathim without wings won’t sell for half as much on the black market as one with at least _one_ set will.” The command was given, and the punishment began.

 

No matter how much Anthea struggled, she could not escape her captors. They ripped and they tore and they _took_ what was not theirs to take, leaving her in a state of anguish Kylo could barely stand to endure. He felt the contents of his stomach threatening to rise in his throat as he watched them hack off four of her wings down to the coracoid, drowning the porcelain canvas of her shoulders and back in rivers of carmine. Her eyes rolled back after a while and her screams seized; whether this was because she had lost consciousness or simply rubbed her voice raw, he wasn’t sure.

 

Kylo Ren was numb from head to toe as he watched them haul her limp body up, one individual carrying her on his shoulder as if she were a sack of meat to be lugged around. When Anthea truly did pass out from the pain and the memory faded to black, it suddenly jumped again.

 

This time, a raid was taking place. It was the distraction she needed to flee, the one she had waited so long for, and she wasted no time in acting on the opportunity. After having managed to rid herself of her chains with the assistance of a fellow slave, she took off running, but her master was in hot pursuit. He seemed to be a rich, well established man, and had certainly paid a fortune to come into possession of a Diathim slave. He was quite literally watching his credits fly out the window, and he wasn’t keen on letting Anthea escape.

 

The Diathim as a race in general were capable of flying through space without the need for protective gear or life support, but with four of her wings having been stolen from her, Anthea couldn’t hope to outpace an actual ship. Thus, she stole one of her own among the chaos.

 

Having never flown a starship in her entire life given that she had wings of her own, the chase didn’t persist for very long. In a desperate attempt to lose her pursuer, Anthea kicked in the hyperdrive after wrestling briefly with the foreign instrumentation and jumped past even the Outer Rim. Further and further she retreated, eventually entering the Unknown Regions, where Starkiller Base resided. Seeing the massive planet looming in the distance, she headed straight for it, intending to lose her unwanted company on the surface.

 

Aiming to disable her, her former master open fired at the ship. It had taken some damage in the initial takeoff, however, and a few well placed hits was enough to send it spiraling. The angel abandoned the cockpit rather than be engulfed in the inevitable explosion that occurred when the engines combusted, but was still hit with ricocheting debris when the ship tore itself apart. Sharp metal shards punctured multiple areas on her wings, causing her to cry out and waver ever closer towards the mobile ice planet. In doing so, she was thus sucked into the gravitational pull of Starkiller Base.  

 

That was when her fall began. Kylo recalled seeing her plummet from the ether, but seeing it from her perspective was nothing short of jarring. This time, her sense of helplessness was his own. This time, the stab of despair was _theirs._ He steeled himself just before he witnessed her hit the ground, bracing against the surge of pain that rocketed through her memories. It was only a dull echo of what she had felt at the time, the same holding true of the removal of her wings, and yet it was still potent.

 

 _Get up. You have to get up. He’ll be coming for you soon enough. And if not him, then the other slavers._ Her thoughts bounced around in his head space, and he watched her as he had before when she tried, and failed, to get to her feet. The pain was simply too much— her body had endured its limit.

 

 **_Get up._ ** She grew frustrated with herself, gritting her teeth.

 

But she couldn't. Her legs wobbled with her next attempt to rise, knees giving out beneath her. She tried flapping her wings, but they were like dead weights harnessed to her back, and did her little good. She simply could not pull herself to her feet, and she knew that her end was drawing near.

 

So she waited— waited for the sound of her denounced master’s ship to draw near; for him to come hauling out and running to her in order to recapture her. She waited for the only thing she had left to her name, her freedom, to be ripped from her grasp once more.

 

But the ship never came. There was no capture; no sound of boots trampling against snow as they approached her. For the longest time, there was nothing but the wind echoing through the mountains and trees.

 

 _This is where I die._ The thought should have frightened her, but it didn't. Her family had been slaughtered and she sold into slavery, and for what?

 

In a streak of unexpected pity, Anthea found it in her to feel a tad bit sorry for the man who spent such a colossal amount of credits to purchase her. The sentiment baffled Kylo, but it was a lesson to be learned: never buy a slave with wings.

 

Although, it wasn't as if her former master hadn’t attempted to keep her tethered to the ground by one means or another. He had tied her wings tight - bound them in chains and a lock. He had kept weights on her ankles to keep her further burdened; as if that had been necessary at that point. She was certain the other slavers would be better off for her absence; the former rattling of her imprisoning bindings when she moved to and fro had grated on the nerves after a while.

 

As she lay dying in the snow, she pondered idly on the fate that might have befallen the other slaves. Had they managed to escape just as she had? The distraction caused by the raid and pillaging of the village had served them well, yet she desperately hoped— for their sakes— that their luck fared better than hers. She hoped they didn't muck up this rare opportunity as badly as she had.

 

She hoped they were somewhere safe. She hoped they were warm and comfortable, and not wasting away in the snow. Oh well; at least it numbed her muscles entirely so that she couldn’t feel the pain anymore. She couldn’t really feel _anything,_ but she prefered that over the agony that had been racking previously.

 

She supposed she could just close her eyes and go to sleep - sink into the embrace of the snow and never wake. The thought was sorely tempting as her body temperature began slowly declining, her breath billowing out by her lips and appearing as a thick cloud.

 

_If this is how I go, so be it. Better this than perishing in chains._

 

With that thought in mind, Anthea had sunk into the snow fully, exhaling slowly. It wouldn’t be long before she slipped away.

 

It was only seconds after that revelation that something happened; something the Diathim could have never anticipated.

 

Kylo saw himself through his eyes when next she peeked them open, and he vaguely heard her mull over the thought that she had encountered yet _another_ human. She recalled the face of the man whom she had deemed harmless, remembered the havoc he had unleashed on her life, and tried to stand. Again she failed, and, otherwise drained entirely of energy, succumbed to her exhaustion.

 

That was when he had saved her. When Kylo Ren, an imposing figure feared widely throughout the galaxy, had knelt down beside this fascinating creature’s broken form and picked her up so smoothly into his arms to carry back to the central control facility; the great assembly chamber and its hundreds of workstations. Through the wiping winter winds and frigid snow he had carried her, delivering her personally to the medbay and overseeing her recovery.

 

Removing her fingers from against his forehead in present time, Anthea leaned back and examined the knight’s face. His eyes remained closed even after the images faded from his mind, for the sensation and raw emotions from it all lingered still yet.

 

He had never felt the urge to apologize for anything in her entire life, and yet the words _I’m sorry_ welled in his throat. Useless— such sentiment was empty and void, and would not change what had happened to her and her family. It would not bring them back; would not erase her scars, both physical and mental.

 

“Say the word, and I’ll have every one of them hunted down.” His voice was low, and his dark brown eyes were nearly black with anger. He would cut these men in twain himself if he were capable. She need only ask it of him, and he would show them what raw **_fear_ ** truly felt like.

 

Anthea’s lips twitched as she regarded him, and she ducked her head down to mask her slight smile.

 

“I know you wouldn’t hesitate,” she mused, “but that won’t be necessary.”

 

Kylo said nothing, only furrowed his brows at her. He knew all too well the extent of this woman’s compassion, but _surely_ she couldn’t possibly—

 

“I intend on hunting each and every one of them down myself,” she explained, her voice surprisingly low. Her eyes held his for a long moment, and within her he could sense a glimmer of that hatred he tried so hard to pull from her. It was there, it existed, now if only he could convince her to _act_ on it. To direct it against others, and not just the men who had wronged her.

 

“Oh? And what fate do you have planned for them after you hunt them down?”

 

“I haven’t quite settled on that yet. Perhaps I’ll have them delivered straight into the belly of a Sarlaac,” the tone in which she spoke was dismissive, but he could tell the idea appeased her. She had thought on it more than once.

 

There it was again. That _hate._ If she would only make use of it, capitalize on it, she could grow so much stronger. And with his guidance, with his teachings, she could reach the height of darkness. She could be a queen, a dark queen, who struck fear and awe into all who beheld her. She could hunt down those men who had wronged her; could serve at his side.

 

But she would not give in so easily, and he knew better than to propose the offer now. Not in this moment, so delicate and fragile as it were. Instead, he opted to change the subject.

 

“You wear your hair down to hide your scars.” It wasn’t a question. Anthea’s eyes honed in on him, and she nodded slowly.

 

Backless dresses were a necessity given the large, feathered appendages she toted. They required room to breathe, to stretch and shift, and the uniforms of the First Order didn’t exactly permit such things. She could always have one modified for her, but she much preferred the weightlessness of her usual flowing raiment. As far as her hair went, the thigh length tresses did a wonderful job of concealing her scars whilst she donned such clothing.

 

Because of this, Kylo had only ever caught glimpses of the marring that tore across the angel’s back. She hid them well, but suddenly she turned around, sweeping her hair out of the way and over the front of her shoulder with one gentle stroke of her hands. The knight barely concealed the hitch in his breath as the severity of the damage dealt to her really sunk in. He had watched the birth of these scars, and yet seeing them now, having them within arm’s reach to _touch_ , was something else entirely. She extended one wing outwards to him then, and for a moment he merely stared at it. Was she…?

 

“It’s alright,” she assured, as if somehow sensing his hesitation. Even after enduring such abuse, she was offering him permission to touch that which was so precious to her; her last remaining set of wings— something she had never permitted of any other person. Not even him, up until now. It showed an unwavering amount of trust on her behalf, and he wasn’t keen on betraying it.

 

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t often thought of this very moment. His fingers were almost uncharacteristically gentle as he slid them over the feathers, his touch ghosting across the plumage with such care, almost as if he feared he might snap a bone if he pressed too hard.

 

She sat perfectly still during the exchange, her eyes having slid closed. A few feathers ruffled here and there, but other than that, she appeared to be calm. A small touch ghosted across her shoulder by the edge of her wing and she cracked one eye open, peeking over her shoulder at him.

 

He was watching her with great concentration, always aware of her reactions and emotions through her presence in the Force. When she showed not a trace of objection, he carefully, _slowly,_ slid his hands down to skirt around her scars.

 

They were gruesome things, still sensitive even after all these years. Or perhaps it was by reflex that the muscles in her back quivered when he drew near to certain tender spots. The memory of how this disfigurement came to pass burned raw in her mind still, the agony would always be fresh. It was not something she would ever be able to forget; all she could do was gather up the pieces of herself and press forward.

 

His eyes drew slowly towards her own, and for a moment, the intensity that passed between them was like a physical shock. He felt it ripple through him, and his pupils dilated. They were suddenly stuck, suspended in something neither of them quite seemed to grasp, but it radiated between the both of them with a crackling fervor.

 

Then his comlink began to emit an alert, and the knight growled beneath his breath. The moment was shattered, lost, and he was resigned to rise from his knelt position, picking his mask back up and slipping it back over his head as he accepted the transmission. The locking mechanisms clicked into place and the apparatus settled over his features just as General Hux’s frequency was picked up and a small hologram of him was projected.

 

“General Hux,” Ren greeted formally, an air of detachment notable in his tone.

 

“Ren,” the general mimicked the false tone of politeness. His eyes ticked briefly towards Anthea then, but if he thought anything in particular about her presence or wondered why she was in the knight’s personal quarters, he kept such inquiries to himself.

 

“I assume this has something to do with the prisoner?” the masked knight intoned.

 

“Indeed. Your presence is required in the detention block. The Resistance pilot is proving to be rather…” Hux trailed off then, searching for an adequate term to describe the likes of Poe Dameron’s obstinateness.

 

“Resistful?” Anthea offered with a small upturn of her lips. Hux’s projection promptly glared at her.

 

“ _Defiant,”_ he said, redirecting his focus onto Kylo, “He has refused to disclose the location of the map, even after certain methods of persuasion were employed.”

 

“Understood. I will personally speak with our guest.” the knight rumbled. Hux nodded, and the correspondence was ended all at once. The Diathim turned to face her company, frowning up slightly at the mask that now shielded his features from her view once more.

 

“And what will you do with him once you’ve extracted the information you seek? What will happen to him?”

 

Kylo didn’t answer, only strode from the room and left her in pensive silence. Alone. Suddenly, and with chilling clarity, she recalled what he had said to her back on Jakku, and knew all at once and with a grim certainty what fate inevitably awaited the pilot:

  
**_The Order does not release prisoners after it has taken them._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get interesting. The next chapter is going to have Finn and Poe in it, and Anthea, being the sympathetic person that she is, is going to get mixed up in something she shouldn't. Kylo isn't going to be pleased. 
> 
> (Come talk to me about the trash bag that is Kylo Ren on my Tumblr page, skywalkalonelyroad!)


End file.
